


Nanogram Levels of Irony

by AislingSiobhan



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Avengers - Freeform, Extremis, Frostironfest 2013, I compare people to energy alot, M/M, Masturbation, Mind/Thoughts link, Science Bros, Slash, Thor 2 Spoilers, Thor: The Dark World, Time Line AU, Voyeurism, a lot of porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-26
Updated: 2013-11-26
Packaged: 2018-01-02 18:07:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1059908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AislingSiobhan/pseuds/AislingSiobhan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the 2013 Frostiron Fest. A delayed reaction between the arc reactor and the Tesseract means that Tony slowly realizes he has control of the Tesseract and access to Loki’s mind. Who could fault him for taking advantage of Loki’s own mistake?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nanogram Levels of Irony

**Author's Note:**

  * For [qwanderer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/qwanderer/gifts).



This is for qwanderer. I avoided all of your dislikes, but I didn’t include many of your likes either, so I hope you like it? 

* * * 

**“Nanogram Levels of Irony”**

**Disclaimer:** Avengers, Thor, Loki, etc belong to Marvel, Stan Lee, et co. I make   
no money from this and own nothing, don’t sue.   
**Summary:** Written for the 2013 Frostiron Fest. A delayed reaction between the arc reactor and the Tesseract means that Tony slowly realizes he has control of the Tesseract and access to Loki’s mind. Who could fault him for taking advantage of Loki’s own mistake?  
 **Warnings:** Slash. Frostiron. Frostiron Fest. A lot of porn. Masturbation. Voyeurism. Thoughts/feelings/mind link. I compare people to energy a lot. Thor 2. Science Bros. Extremis. AU time line. Did I miss anything?   
**Rating:** NC-17.  
 **Title:** Bit obscure, but it amused me. It’s taken from the improvement in the detection limit for trace metal analyses by use of crystalline energy transfer instead of normal luminescence methods. With this system, nanogram levels of iron can be measured.  
 **A/N:** I completely screwed with the time line, because Darcy says it’s been two years after they were talking about Thor being in New York, but Loki gets his sentence at the start of Thor 2? So they just stuck him somewhere for two years before imprisoning him? Or, Darcy meant 2 years since New Mexico, in which case I don’t care and I’ve changed the time line. It’s been 3 months since New York, and IM3 happened in the middle of that timeframe instead. I hate numbers. Dates are numbers. 

_XXX_

**Words:** 5,995  
 **Chapter 1**  
It started like a spark. Just a little touch of anger burning in his chest, there and gone again in a fleeting second, so fast that Tony wondered if he had ever felt it at all. But like a spark, it grew: the flames got bigger, brighter and stronger. It burned within him, suddenly, enough to knock him off of his feet. He stumbled, slumping sideways until he rested on one knee with one thigh flat against the ground, a hand out in front of him to keep him from falling further. 

But it wasn’t his anger, Tony thought, pushing himself up onto both knees. 

Across the lab, Bruce stopped what he was doing to glance over at his friend. He put down the device he had been tinkering with; ignoring the high pitch buzzing that began as it hit the counter top. He crossed the lab swiftly to drop to one knee by Tony’s side. “What is it?” 

He was sincere in his concern, Tony was pleased to note. They had known each other for three months, and of those three months Bruce had only lived with him for two. After sending Loki back to Asgard, he had Bruce had headed back to what was left of the Tower to see what they could salvage. Anything that could be saved was flown out to his Malibu property and after that was done and the Tower was just beginning its repairs, Bruce disappeared for a month. He left, fortunately, just in time to avoid the Mandarin and Killian and the mansion sinking off the side of the cliff Tony had built it on with Tony still in it. Since Bruce had come back to New York, they had spent most of their time together in the lab, or in the common room watching trashy television and purposely not talking about the Loki shaped hole in the floor by the bar that the construction crew had been told to leave there. 

They hadn’t quite gotten around to talking about the serious stuff yet, about the shitty childhoods they had in common or the Hulk who, while out of sight, was certainly not out of mind, and they definitely didn’t talk about aliens. Yeah, they watched a few of the old eighties alien movies, some of the more cheesy ones, and they built machines to read magic in the air and in people, but they hadn’t actually brought themselves to sit down and talk about it all out loud yet. Not in so certain of terms, anyway. 

And this anger, the emotions that weren’t his own, messing with his body and his mind? Well, Tony considered that to be one of the ‘serious-and-or-alien’ things their relationship wasn’t yet at the stage to handle. So he brushed Bruce off, laughed about tripping, threatened to donate Dummy to a museum for leaving crap on the floor (silently promising to apologise later when the bot dipped its one arm sadly in response). “Course I’m sure!” Tony added, when Bruce attempted to prod at him. “Come on, it’s coffee time.”

He brushed it off easily that time. 

The next time it happened two days after the first time, Tony fell out of the bed. His fear was making his skin crawl. He could feel it worming its way through his veins, his nerve endings felt like they were made of steel clawing at his skin from the inside out as he breathed and the air made the hair on his arms tremble. Tony shuddered again, lying on the floor with the blanket tangled between his legs and his arms up over his head. He couldn’t see anything but darkness. Everything was black, though occasionally flashes of white would pass him by, like warp-speed, just lines of white until the darkness returned and it felt like he was falling. So fast, the sights around him canvass that was all around him, and he the only art left to make, and someone was unmaking him. 

He couldn’t see them, couldn’t hear them, but they were there. Someone laughing and it felt like shame. Someone shouting and the fear came rushing back, making his head ache. Someone touched him, without a hand, and his skin crawled and his legs curled up to tuck against his chest and Tony screamed, loud and long until Jarvis turned on the lights and Pepper came bursting into the room to wake him. 

“What happened?” She asked him, as her hands carded their way through his hair. 

He kept his head in her lap, one hand loosely curled around her hip and the other was pressed to his chest, feeling the beat of his heart and the arc reactor that he had decided to keep, because it used to keep his nightmares away. Pepper had taken to sleeping in the spare bedroom, Tony’s nightmares after New York too much for her to handle sometimes, especially when she was repeatedly being dragged out of the bed by an angry Mark-whatever-Tony-was-working-on. But she loved him and she was his friend and Tony felt none of the shame or fear from earlier when he turned his head to kiss her clothed stomach and whispered, “Nightmares. I thought I was falling again, and no on tried to catch me. They just stood there as I fell, laughing.”

“No one is going to let you fall Tony,” Pepper whispered. She was frowning, eyes sad as she stared down at him, because she had thought he was getting better. 

“But that’s the thing, Pep,” he mumbled against the fabric of her pyjama top. “I wasn’t falling. He was, and I just stood there and laughed. But that’s not how it happened, right?” He turned to glance up at her and his eyes were so wide Pepper had to blink back her tears. Tony had never looked so scared before, or so hurt, and she was scared for him. 

But she smiled widely, shaking her head as she told him, “No, that’s not how it happened. The Hulk caught you.”

Tony hummed non-committedly. They sat in silence for an hour until Pepper started to yawn and Tony sent her back to bed. But he stayed awake, sequestered in his lab with the device he and Bruce had been building, the magical frequency meter and he waved it around his head, at his legs, his arms, his chest until at last it started beeping. 

“Jarvis?”

“The arc reactor, Sir,” his AI responded. If a machine could sound worried, Jarvis had it down to a T; there was the right amount of inflection in his words, hesitancy and sureness in equal parts and Tony flinched at the sound of it. 

“I’m sure it’s not a big deal, buddy.” Dummy rolled closer, letting out the occasional enquiring beeps as Tony pulled the reactor from its casing. Without the shrapnel, he didn’t really need the reactor, but it was his and it had been such a part of him for so long that he couldn’t bring himself to throw it away (also, leaving a gaping hole in his chest wasn’t an attractive bonus of removing it either). Extremis could have fixed the hole, but Tony had tested as much as it needed to be tested on himself in order to cure Pepper and he had promised not to go any further than that. He was stronger than before, slept and ate less (not that he was very good at remembering to do those anyway) but he kept the reactor casing because he had promised Pepper he wouldn’t take any more unnecessary risks. So, he kept the reactor too.

The reactor still glowed, and it had protected him from Loki, and it kept his room from being too dark at night so that he could sleep with the constant presence of the light to keep him from dreaming about the void. Except tonight, it hadn’t helped him. And instead of dreaming about seeing it, Tony had been inside of it, falling for eons as worlds spun passed him at such speeds that they weren’t even worlds, just lights, and he could barely see them so dark was the void between worlds. 

“It is,” Jarvis began to say and then hesitated. “What I mean to say, Sir, is that the reactor is giving off the same energy frequency as the Tesseract did.” 

“What?” He almost dropped it when Jarvis’ words registered. His fingers were loose around the reactor, palm suddenly sweaty, and he quickly turned to drop it onto the nearest counter. Tony watched it like it was a wild animal, something feral and strange, and he tensed as if it might attack him. But it didn’t move, or pulse the way the Tesseract had before Loki had stepped through the portal it created. It didn’t explode either. “Well that’s a bit anticlimactic,” Tony drawled. 

He picked it up again, moving it closer to Bruce’s work station and laying it gently right on the corner of the table. He brought the magical meter with him, and a packet of notes on the Tesseract that Jarvis had found on SHIELD’s servers months ago and printed for him. It was 43 hours, 16 minutes, 7 seconds and another ‘episode’ later, before Tony figured out what was going on. He shook off the feeling of boredom, because he hadn’t been bored. Science was never boring, work, this kind of work though not the stuff Pepper made him do sometimes, was never boring. And yet his legs had gone numb, his toes tingled as he wiggled them back to life. Tony had yawned more times than he could remember, arms stretching over his head until his back cracked and his shoulders ached from hunching over the worktable. He’d lost count of the number of times he’d stood up to walk away, to do something, anything, only to suddenly remember that _he wasn’t bored_. 

“Seems I’m not completely immune to magic after all, J.” Tony snorted, but it didn’t sound amused. It was the sound that usually came before someone tried to stifle their sobs, a loud exhalation of air, blocked by the heart that was suddenly lodged in his throat, making it hard to breathe and harder still to stop the tears of frustration and fear. “Let’s see what I can do about this.” 

He didn’t tell the others. Not only would it probably worry them, or annoy them and compromise him, but Tony held no illusions that they’d bother to stop what they were doing to help him out. He’d been alone before New York and he’d been alone when Killian stomped all over his life, and here he was, alone again. Bruce was there, but Bruce had his own problems. Happy was always willing to help, but after the last time, his help was the last Tony was willing to accept, and Pepper deserved to be kept out of it. Killian had built walls between them by using them against Tony, and Tony wasn’t willing to bring those walls down enough to risk them getting hurt again. It was better to face this alone, and at least with Loki in Asgard there was no physical way for the God to hurt _him_. 

He was dirty and smelly when he finally emerged from his lab. He’d kept it locked the entire time he was down there, and Bruce was hovering nervously outside of the closed doors when they finally opened. “All yours, big guy,” Tony had offered loudly, waving a hand towards the door. He’d brought the magical meter with him, tucked into his jeans pocket so that no one would see it. The arc reactor was back in his chest, slotted into its casing and glowing a strange hue of blue. Tesseract blue, Tony realised and wondered why he hadn’t noticed it sooner. 

“I need a shower,” he added when Bruce opened his mouth to say something. He walked passed his friend without another word, ignoring the sputtered attempts Bruce made to stall him, and he definitely ignored Steve fucking Rogers sticking his head out of the kitchen door to chidingly tell him they had been ‘worried about him’. He snorted to himself, this time sounding more amused than broken, and kept walking. 

The water was hot, almost too hot, but Tony didn’t change the temperature, enjoying the heat while it lasted, using it to help him focus. Forget the pain, he told himself as his skin turned pink and then red from the heat, focus on the anger instead, he thought. He closed his eyes, thinking about the anger that wasn’t his, the pain, the fear, the boredom. He thought about the person who _must_ be feeling those emotions, the person whose magic had gotten stuck in his arc reactor, who was tainting him, twisting him. And Tony had to figure out how to control it, before the magic started to control him, until he no longer could tell who he was and who he wasn’t, or who was feeling what for real. 

He was good at many, many things, science was one of them. Sex was another. So, when the anger bubbled back to the surface of his thoughts, whispers of hate and resentment, like pins within his heart, pricking him with every beat, Tony let his hand trail down his chest. Fingers ran along his stomach, circling his belly button until a startled gasp slipped from his lips. But it wasn’t him who was startled. So he did it again, this time allowing one finger to softly stroke the head of his cock, lips curving at the twitch of his hips, at the knowledge that someone else’s cock had pulsed under his touch. Tony did it again, and again, until he was stroking himself to completion, enjoying the sensation of skin upon skin even if it was his own hand, but enjoying more the feeling of embarrassment and frustration, the others’ thoughts of not knowing what was happening or how to stop it, of being in control for the first time in a long time. When Tony came, it was with a soft moan, shoulders slumping in exhaustion and belly coiling loosely in pleasure. 

But there was frustration within him still, Loki fighting back his orgasm, tight limbed and lock jawed and furious, and Tony could only laugh at the feeling, because it had worked. It would work. Before he knew it, Loki would get so sick of Tony interfering in _his_ life that he’d take off the spell connecting them, and that in itself would be another little victory for Tony Stark. 

_XXX_

After Thor had brought him back to Asgard, anger became his constant companion. He had felt it before, plenty of times over, almost all of the time to be honest, but it had been intermittent with days filled with nothing but fear and darkness. Now though, after the long shameful walk through the halls of Asgard towards his prison cell, anger was his faithful shadow, long and drawn out behind him, always in his wake, and lashing out at those who jeered him. Magic curled at his fingertips, even with Thor’s special handcuffs encircling his wrists. Rage whitened his features, until he was pale and gaunt and haunted looking. Wrecked, completely, in his fury. Wrecking everything in his rage. 

They had left him in his cell, alone for months. 

First came anger, and then as he dreamed, he dreamt of falling and of the void and the darkness he had found there, of the creatures that lurked within the darkness and taunted him. He could never see them, not until he led them to conquer Midgard, for he could only ever see Thanos in the darkness, the Titan who outshone the sun, so stark was his madness, so clear was his intent. But they were always there, laughing and pointing, around him in a circle like the Avengers had been before he was caught at last, and Loki dreamed of it often as the days wore into weeks and then months. Each time he woke, flailing, cries unheard through the soundproof glass but the other prisoners could see him, would stare at him as he panted and tried to calm the fear that set his body aflame to the desire to run. 

After all of that came the boredom. It was so intense at times, Loki sometimes wondered why he was bored at all when he could sit and list the way in which he _was_ bored, and wasn’t that pathetic. So instead he tried to distract himself. He read the books the Queen brought him, and he threw a ball into the air and caught it repeatedly, or he kicked at the glass of his cage until a soldier came to see what he was doing and Loki would merely grin at him, unable to hear his scolding through the glass and so, unconcerned by it. But that couldn’t keep him entertained for eternity, not Loki the God of mischief whose adventures had all begun because he was bored or curious. And so he tried focusing on his magic, bound as it was, and foreign feelings of curiosity stirred through him, feelings that didn’t belong to him, awe and frustration (not his own, not for being locked up and defeated, but rather for not understanding yet) and then glee as the frustration abated. 

It was on that day the guards came for him. They brought him before Odin, three months after his arrest and imprisonment, chained at the wrists and ankles and around his throat, like an animal. Wild and dangerous and deadly, and he was, wasn’t he, so he did not fight the soldiers who collared him. Instead he wondered what Odin had been deliberating on for so long, three months to decide to cut off his head was a bit extreme, but perhaps Thor had pleaded for his life? Or Frigga perhaps, her sad eyes and soft smile as constant a companion lately as his anger was, staring in at him from outside the glass of his cage as he fought hard to ignore her presence lest she see him cry. 

He stood, back straight and head held high, as Odin spoke to him. He clicked his heels together like the good toy-soldier he was always supposed to be (such a failure, such a disappointment to the house of Odin), but he couldn’t keep up the ruse. Instead he laughed, head turned to one side so he wouldn’t have to see Frigga walk away from him. Thor was not there either, he noted, using the laugh as an excuse to glance around the room before turning his gaze back to Odin. 

“I really don’t see what all the fuss is about,” Loki said at last, holding his bound hands out in front of him in a ‘so-what’ gesture. 

“Do you truly not feel the gravity of your crimes?” Odin asked him, sitting on top of his golden throne, higher than all others, better than all others. Omnipotent and lone eye as far seeing as Heimdallr’s two and yet he had not seen Loki fall, not seen him hurt and taunted and bruised for all of these centuries, or hadn’t cared, but the former was preferable. “Wherever you go, there is war, ruin and death.”

Loki frowned, anger coursing through his veins once more. His only true friend. The only thing to have never betrayed him or abandoned him: the one emotion that made him stronger than he was. “I went down to Midgard to rule the people of Earth as a benevolent God… Oh!” He startled, eyes blinking furiously as something touched his chest. There was no one there, no hand nor magic upon him, and it was too bright in the halls of Odin Allfather for the Other to lurk within the darkness unseen. He added quickly, shaking his head and shaking off the strange touch, “just like you.”

“We are not Gods,” Odin replied, “we are born, we live, we die.” 

Odin was still speaking, comparing their race to the mortals own, but Loki was not listening because now someone or something was touching his stomach, fingers tracing his flesh beneath his clothing, fingertips dipping into his bellybutton over and over until he gasped loudly. 

“Give or take five thousand years,” Loki managed to say, sounding cocky and arrogant even as his hips jerked forward at the touch of a phantom finger probing at the slit of his cock. The groan that wished to escape him did not, and Loki almost bit his tongue off several times to keep himself silent as the hand fondled him, stroking and tugging, bringing him to the brink of pleasure before letting his heart calm its beat, allowing Loki to believe it was over. Odin pronounced his sentence, and only then did it begin again and this time Loki couldn’t stop the cry of frustration that escaped him. It slipped out of his lips after Odin screamed his true birth-right at him, and Loki groaned with need, fortunately mistaken for a cry of pain at the cold words of the man who had raised him a lifetime ago. 

“If I’m for the a-axe,” Loki began, breath catching in his throat mid-word as the hand went back to work, its grip tight around the head of his penis, fingers curling just so taunting Loki, teasing him, cock hard and throbbing and trapped within his pants, straining towards a release that couldn’t be granted him. Not here. “Then for mercies sake just swing it! It’s not that I don’t love our little talks,” he said softly, trying to force a look of contriteness across his face when it was already half slack with pleasure, “it’s just… I don’t love them. ” 

The touches continued, maddening and frustrating, and the longer Odin spoke the more Loki wished to leave, back to his cell, to the chopping block, to anywhere but here where he was watched and chained and mocked in silence, so he could throw his head back and let himself enjoy the pleasure. 

“And what of Thor?” He managed to choke out, the soft huffs of breath that left parted lips less sounds of pleasure and more an indication of his hurt, his hate. To be locked up forever while Thor ruled as King, when Loki was the rightful King, Loki was the one Frigga had picked. 

Odin kept talking, and Loki wanted to listen, wanted to argue but what could he say that anyone would chose to listen to? What could he do that he had not already tried to do to get the Allfather’s attention and failed? 

So instead, he gave himself up to the pleasure, using it to still his tongue lest he do anything foolish like beg. It had been a long time since he had indulged in flesh, and despite not knowing whose magic this was, despite the suspicion that it aroused within him, it was not the only thing aroused. Loki wanted to enjoy it, wanted to savour it, let himself sink into the feeling, entangle himself within it and trace it back to his source so that at some point he may unfavourably return the favour. 

The touches continued until he was back in his cell, and then, typically, they stopped. The feelings he associated with orgasm washed over him, the tightness in his belly, the ache in his groin, the gasps that he could no longer stifle and the way his mouth dropped open for a full minute afterwards, unable to close because he was breathing so heavily he couldn’t help it. But his cock was still hard in his trousers, throbbing with every movement of his legs. He forced himself to walk to the cot that was shoved against the far wall of his cell, the only wall not made out of glass, and he threw himself upon it. He lay on his back, turning his body and twisting his clothing until the tightness of it against his dick made him groan. Loki gave up attempting to feel out the other sorcerer, and instead reached his hand into his pants to feel himself. 

_XXX_

As with all things, practice makes perfect. And Tony Stark was nothing if not a perfectionist. 

He tried it again a few more times, smirking to himself as each touch from his own hand awoke not only his arousal but a second, fainter pleasure that belonged to Loki. He could feel Loki’s frustration when Tony left him wanting; feel his suspicion every time the touches started; and Tony could imagine him scowling with his arms crossed, silently demanding to know who dared lay hands upon a Prince of Asgard. Blah, blah, Tony would think with a roll of his eyes, forcing his amusement through their bond and relishing in the instant flare of Loki’s annoyance. 

It made him laugh out loud sometimes, when he and Bruce were supposed to be testing magical frequencies and comparing them to the newer, different wavelength the arc reactor seemed to work on now, because instead of comparing energy fluctuations, Tony was comparing them. He thought about the Hulk and whether if Bruce touched himself the Hulk could feel it too, or if he would want to. And then he thought about Loki, and who Loki thought was responsible for these going-ons (himself, and his damn sceptre, if you asked Tony. Who could fault him for taking advantage of Loki’s own mistakes?) 

The first time Tony had decided to finger himself, wanting to know if Loki could feel that too, the burn of the first stretch, the strange fullness that would fade eventually, the prod of a fingertip to his prostate and the sizzle of nerve endings catching alight, he had felt Loki’s pleasure. But also, embarrassment. It was not like the first time, where Loki had been trying to hide his body’s reactions from Odin and his guards, but now too there was shame. When Tony concentrated he could feel something akin to devotion, not for Tony or Loki himself, but for someone else, a pleading deep within the God for the phantom sorcerer to not bring his suffering onto another whom he cared for. He felt love for that person, Tony realised, trying to think who it must be. It couldn’t be Thor, or Odin, even if Bruce seemed to think that Loki really did care about them. 

His mother maybe? 

That thought stopped Tony cold, made him keep his hands to himself and his trousers fastened. The relief that washed over him, relief that wasn’t his, let him know he’d made the right choice. 

But this time Tony felt pleasure and excitement wash over him as Tony’s hands started to wander. Tony felt them, the bright burst of happiness, the sudden aching need, the wanting that could drive a person mad; but there was no shame, no anger. No longer any suspicion now for Loki had figured him out, sending back thoughts of fear and falling to Tony’s dreams, of the Chitauri and the sceptre, and the Tesseract glowing blue, to let Tony know that _he knew_. Tony merely felt them back, of falling through the darkness of space, of ‘Loki, no’, and of trembling at the head of an army he was insecure of leading. And all the while, Tony let his hands wander. 

But Loki had never thought or felt anything to lead Tony to believe he wanted to stop, so Tony refused to stop. None of his friends knew, Pepper didn’t know, and what other didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them. So he slicked up the fingers of his right hand and reached down between his legs, seeking out below his balls and cock until they pushed against his entrance and the tip of one pressed inside. He felt a lurch in his belly, like hunger strong and raw, and in his chest a growing pressure that was eased as more of his finger fitted into him. Tony added another, and another, relishing in the sensations that washed over him, his own and Loki’s, melding together until Tony wasn’t sure who he was anymore. 

He could have been Tony Stark in that moment or he might have been the alien who destroyed New York: he wasn’t sure which, and it didn’t matter, for both felt equal pleasure. They were the same now, energy and feeling, raw and primitive and dangerous. They were crystalline, and light and thought and _feeling_ passed through them both, connected them, kept them joined together. Like energy changing forms, or static from a storm, or a monitoring of frequency, they were a process now, one and the same and both needed for the transference to work: nothing but physical space separated their bodies from being one. 

_XXX_

The fingers were back. They wandered down the length of his chest, circling his nipples as they passed by and then travelling back up a moment later to pinch the nubs roughly between thumb and forefinger. Loki arched off of the bed with a gasp. He had long since stopped attempting to silence himself. His cell was sound-proof, so no one, guards or prisoners, could hear him beg. Stark couldn’t hear him either, because their bond only allowed thought to pass between them, emotions without sound or pictures but that always let the other know what was being felt. He could cry and whine and moan all he wanted and none would ever know of his weakness, because Stark always stopped whenever Frigga was present. Not physically present, no, but she could see and hear and smile softly at the flush on Loki’s cheeks, and he would do nothing to sink further in her opinion of him. 

But she was not there now, and there were no guards watching him writhe, so Loki slipped his hand beneath his trousers, palming heavily at his hardening cock. 

A rush of anger washed over him. It made his stomach clench in fear and with his fear came a wash of reassurance, of pleasure, but his hand was pinned to his side, as if Tony was lying above him right then holding it down with force that did not belong to his mortal frame. Loki allowed it; allowed himself to feel it, the pressure of his wrist in a tight knuckled grip, the thrill of desire that shot through him at the thought, the futile struggle he gave, never trying too hard in case he shattered the illusion. His legs spread themselves wider, allowing Stark what he wanted and what he had not wanted Loki to touch in his place. 

Loki remained fully clothed, shirt untucked and pants unbuttoned, with shoes still on. But it didn’t stop the hands from pulling at his nipples, the fingers from pressing into the grooves between his ribs, and down, down, into his belly button, around it then, a sensuous caress of fingertips like silk, the tug of an occasional callus against the flesh of Loki’s stomach. They brushed through the thatch of dark hair at his groin, curling and pulling until Loki was hissing from the pain, head through back and teeth clenched and hips bucking up for more. 

Finally, one hand closed around his cock. The grip was sure and familiar, as known to Loki now as his own hand, but even more welcome. He cried out at the first touch, the rough jerk Tony gave his dick leaving him desperate for more even as he whined at the uncomfortable sensation. He was need and desire and want and desperation, and Tony felt of nothing but smugness in that moment, tasted of it even when Loki licked his lips. The blue of the Tesseract that had invaded the arc reactor glowed under his clothes, soft and almost invisible but for the goosebumps they left behind on his covered skin. It invaded his body, like fingers around his cock, and fingers pressing at the muscles of his ass, prodding and twisting and poking until they were all inside and Loki was little more than a screaming mess of lust. 

To the prisoners who watched he was a sight none of them could describe. Both arms were pinned above his head, held flat to the pillow as if someone was actually holding them, palms up, fingers clawing at air. His hair was a mess, fisted earlier by Tony’s invisible hands as he ran them through his own hair, turning his own head so that Loki’s would turn and he could squeeze tightly around the God’s throat until he begged for Tony’s cock. There was one long scratch on Loki’s face, Tony’s attempt to stuff his fingers into his mouth as he came the first time; missing and scratching his chin instead, screaming his pleasure aloud. Loki had screamed with him, the rush of that first orgasm enough to make him rock his hips, legs spread wide and thighs trembling as he came in his pants. To his observers, it looked like he was rutting into air, feet planted on the bed and hands pinned, mouth hanging open as he tried and failed to draw in air quickly enough. His shirt was pushed up to his chest, stomach on display, and it contracted with every touch of invisible fingers, every brush of them against his prostate, and every stroke of Loki’s cock. 

Loki screamed suddenly, with his head thrown back and his legs going limp on the bed, as Tony’s cock filled him. But how, Loki didn’t know, because the man could hardly impale himself, but sex toys were a foreign concept upon Asgard and Loki chose not to question it. Instead he flattened his feet against the bed again, using the leverage to meet each of Tony’s phantom thrusts as the mortal worked himself open with a dildo. When they were done, as Loki lay panting from his second orgasm and the feeling of fullness suddenly, unhappily, left him, he closed his eyes and thought of Stark. 

He thought of falling first, and then of being caught out of the sky but instead of the Hulk it was Loki and he was holding Tony close while the man kissed him. He thought of them both naked, felt the desire pooling low in his belly again. 

Lust was not a new feeling between them, nor anger, fear, or Stark’s arrogance. But the rush of anticipation hit Loki like a punch in the gut, and he curled his legs up on the bed so he could wrap his arms around them. His mouth curved up into a smile after a moment. He let his fingers slowly travel the paths that Tony had earlier traced with his own hands, working their way up one thigh until they were pressing at his hole through the fabric of his trousers, and he kept his eyes closed as he thought about Tony’s cock. 

Loki couldn’t hear it, couldn’t see it, but he could feel Tony’s excitement at the prospect, imagine the grin he would be greeted with, cocky and aroused. And he thought of Tony’s voice offering him a drink, tone confident and amused, almost fond, and replaced the words with, “looking forward to it.” 

Loki wanted it as much as Tony did. The need that bubbled beneath the surface thoughts of his mind was sharp and potent, and it made him grin, teeth peeking out between his lips until he was practically snarling. Stark felt his need, felt his want, and was amused by it. But he reciprocated and that was what mattered. So Loki allowed him his fun, allowed himself to be mocked half-heartedly because while Tony was obviously in charge of their phantom sessions, pinning Loki and tearing him apart with desire, the next time they physically met it would be _Tony_ at the mercy of another. 

Now, all Loki had to do was escape. 

**The End**

* * * 

Ha, that’s what you think Loki! Extremis v Asgardian/Jotun, who would win? 

I hope you enjoyed it. Let me know what you thought please?


End file.
